The Winter of 1953
by Valhallmure
Summary: Its the winter of 1953, Operation Overlord had failed followed by other Allied tragedies. Germany now had its full forces facing Russia once more, both factions looking on each other with weary eyes knowing what was to come.


It was two days past Weihnachten, or what should have been Weihnachten. It's the winter of 1953. We had beaten the Allied Forces in the west, pushing them back into the English Channel and dying the sea with the red of their blood. Their operations had failed attempt after attempt. The Inigma Code remained uncracked, three attacks on the Normandy beach defenses had failed and thousands of airborne troops had perished in the cities. After several more favorable battles and the creation of the Nuclear Bomb, the United Kingdom fell in a rain of fire that was visible from the reserve depots in Troyes. The Luftwaffe's next target was New York, then Washington DC, after that, Houston. At first only the main cities on the outskirts were destroyed, but then we targeted military bases and training camps to beat the Americans into submission. Unfortunately, or fortunately due to your own view, our Nuclear building was sabotaged, the heavy water plants in Norway were destroyed by the remaining Norwegian resistance fighters who teamed up with Soviet troops. Because of the the alliance between the USSR, the NRF and the Swedish uprisers we were again on edge at three sides of the fatherland. In a combined attack, the Soviets pushed us out of the cities of Russia by sheer numbers. Now in Deutschland, we have no choice but to put everyone at arms. Once we pulled out of Norway and Sweden they harried our borders but do not dare to cross, instead they join with the Soviet front lines. Unarmed women and children are still violated and butchered, the Soviets have no mercy and intend to exterminate us, so we must fight back. Men, women and children all fight and die defending the border towns or taking them back.

I load my rifle, the clip making a little "tink" sound as it clicks against the sides of the kar98, then the soft sliding of the casings on the housing and the beautiful crisp "clacks" that resonate from the bolt pushing the first round into the chamber to stare down its length to the small dot of daylight flooding into barrel. The silence of waiting is broken as another round slams into the sand next to my elbow. I flinch back, scrounging for as much cover as I can. Listening to the sound of the automatic rifles sputter haunt through the bodies of my fallen friends, my family, my pack. We had split up, one group taking the left, and ours the right side of the street, where we were slaughtered. I now curl behind a small wall for protection, feeble as it's eaten away by the automatic gun. The left street was scattered with fire every few minutes. I couldn't tell whose the fire was though and in a matter of minutes it wouldn't matter, unless I could get into more efficient cover, cover that was 20 feet away with land soaked with the blood of previous attempts.

Down the road towards the source of fire, an explosion expels dust from the building, the chest of the gunner becoming a raw cavity. Once the dust has settled, I hear a few of the Soviets talking to each other about a block away, obviously arguing about the explosion. The two must have been sneaking up on my position knowing I am the last one, but now their cover was lost, their bickering saw to that, and this gave me a chance to peer around the corner to see where they were. I slowly ease one eye around the corner of the damaged wall to get my bearings. In immediate view, two of my friends were down; Sam and Johanna, one with a head wound and the other with her guts dropped next to her like an animal was gorging on her before she was even dead, her moans and cries lasted the longest, Sam had died immediately with a shot through his cheekbone. Beyond Johanna and Sam, lay Rainart, he was the team's leader, he made it the farthest too, before he stepped on an IED that blew the bottom have of his body away. From his stomach down was dust, guts and what he ate this morning. Beyond them were the two Soviets, just standing on the edge of an alley like two dumb cows, easy shots. I wouldn't throw up again, not for the fifth time, nothing was left but bile and now I had something to focus on instead of the bodies. I slowly pull up my rifle and cradle it in my left shoulder, cautious to have it pointed straight up so it's still behind cover while I prepare. I let the barrel drop right outside of cover into the crook of my right elbow as it wraps up and I grasp my left forearm, I crane my neck to align the sights, squeeze the trigger, and fire. My shoulder jerks back, I use the momentum from the recoil to turn back under cover without seeing what happened to my target, the shot still ringing in my ears. My helmet was made for a man, far too large for me, as was my Dot pea 44s and the oak leaf jump smock they handed to me as the pushed me towards the front lines to hunt for a rifle from a killed Wehrmacht soldier. What i wanted was a Maschinenpistole 44, what i got was a Karabiner 98 kurz. The K98 is a bolt action rifle, mine was old and has seen a lot of combat, the stock was split and the butt plate bent. When i found the rifle it only had three shots left, i didn't fire it until i got more ammo. I had never fired the gun before that, and afterwards, i'd fired it at least ten times every day.

I hear the Russian soldier drop with a cry of pain, the alarm of his comrade and the struggle as they tried to find the source of blood through the whimpers of the man I'd shot. The rustle and rough gravelly sound the wounded soviets body being dragged behind cover pushed me to move. I pull the chamber open once more and load another 7.92 X 57mm round into the barrel before twisting and getting up to flank around the collapsed building and the low rock wall I was hiding behind. I stay low, crouching as I make my way down the tight and dusty alley. At the edge of the building I stop and listen to the sound of the two Russian troops, still struggling over the wounded of the two.

I shoulder my rifle, the barrel pointing to the ground, almost touching the trampled grass, keeping it from view before I turn the corner. I pull in a breath, then let it out slowly, my heart thundering in my chest and blood pouring through my veins. The world swirls before my eyes and nausea takes hold of me as I whip around the corner. My stomach tightens, my left shoulder brushes the crumbling brick and my right foot plants itself next to a broken kartoffel box in the middle of the alley. The unharmed Russians head whips up to see me, my rifle raising to kill. He moves too, pulling his rifle to his hip to fire. A Mosin nagant, long and slender, a reliable weapon to be made in the millions. I see it's trigger being pulled, the bright of its muzzle flash, the deafening slam of the bullet being fired. I yank the k98 trigger.

I fall, the breath going out of me in full and my shoulder burning in pain. Two screams emanate from the alley. As I land on the dirty ground a hoarse cry cuts into a pained holler and a string of Russian, probably curses. I open my eyes, darkness. My helmet had fallen over my eyes and I rushed to push it out of the way. I can see the boots moving towards me in slow motion, charcoal black with a layer of building dust. My hand fumbles for my rifle, behind the boots is the squirming wounded man, a second bullet hole in his thigh, bleeding heavily, an artery. I move my helmet from my eyes to see the bayoneted Mosin rushing towards me, the yellowish teeth of the Russian soldier gritting, the eyes hateful.

Another shot, a different shot. The horribly beautiful sound of shredding metal fills the alley. Hot fluid iron spills on my skin, red fills my vision as I see the Communists eyes bulge while staring at me. He falls, dropping his rifle as he twists, his body contorting with the empty spaces where bullets had mangled his flesh to hollows. The man's eyes twist up into his skull, a gasp crawling from his throat just before he lands with his hand reaching out and clenching on my pant leg. Across the mass of his fallen corpse stood a Fallschirmjäger, his body poised and braced to fire the Maschinengewehr 42k in his hands. A second soldier stood at his shoulder with a Mauser C48, the barrel smoking and the wounded soldier finally silent. The Fallschirmjägers were from the other group, they were more experienced and had fought in the west before the Americans had been beaten. The two men were unshaven and unkempt, their uniforms torn and discolored with mud. Thier weapons however, were pristine. The metal was polished and the handles cleaned and finished. I sat staring as the first man moved towards me, the second man squatted to loot the dead Soviets. The man's eyes were decisive but dark, his dirty blonde hair was dark and sleek with mud, grease and something that looked like blood. His face was gaunt, his cheeks hollow with prominent cheekbones. Stressed wrinkles scratched the corners of his eyes where they had spent time squinting, possibly with the Afrika Korps. Overall, his eyes were kind, compassionate, they pitied me. The man must have been about 43 or so, maybe he had kids my age, but all he asked, is if i was okay, and if i knew how to feed an mg.

By nightfall we had secured the small town, we had lost half of the left hand group and I had joined them to make a team of eleven. I had stayed with the two who had saved me, I fed rounds to the Maschinengewehr as he ripped through the few soldiers that were left. I was the last of the small reserve force that had taken the right flank, the other six had been slaughtered all around me. Several hours after I could finally rest I was awoken by artillery. In the orphanage near Kassel the constant artillery had stopped four years ago, directly after we had retaken Leipzig and Dresden. Before, I had grown used to it, blocking it out and running to my own little world with my sister and brother, in that world they were still alive, the grass was green and the trees had blooms and birds to give them attention. Once we were tired of play we could go back to our house with the blue shutters and white washed walls, the flowers on the windowsills and the soft smell of Eierkuchen and anticipation for Fruchtsaft Schorle. But here, there was no world to escape to, no imagination to hide in, here, the artillery was aimed at us, and all around us. The artillery popped my ears and stabbed into them until they bled. As the artillery punched holes through the town buildings collapsed including the little bakery across the street, the blown out windows allowed shrapnel to cut through the room and slice through the ribs of one unlucky soldier curled against the opposite wall. Once the artillery was finished the man's moans reached on another ten minutes before we were able to get to him, by then it was too late. The counter attack came early in the morning, as did the acidic rain. The assault started with the roar of soviet troops sprinting from their small trenches outside of the town. As the troops got closer the rain came, in a drizzle the acid rain is not that dangerous, it only stings and leaves little welts on bare skin. In puddles, the acid rain can kill, the acid separates from the water and at the top of the puddle and burns through skin to the bone.

Setting up the defenses took all of three minutes. There were two roads to watch and it only took one man to watch our backs. Doggedly we sparked into movement, the CO calling commands and pointing towards locations for defense. I followed the Fallschirmjager, he turned to me and placed the MG on my shoulder, I stumbled slightly under the unexpected weight but continued on with a strained movement. His name was Franklin Sauer, and I was right, he did have children, but they were gone. With the 42 rounds wrapped around my neck and the MG on my shoulder I trudged through the sprinkling acid, feeling slight pricks on the tops of my hands, smelling the putrid wafting odor of burning acid combined with rotting corpses and artillery smoke. Kuhn, the one who had the C48 was a step in front of me when the first shots rang out, we were caught in the middle of the street and the first shot tore through his shoulder. He dropped, his other arm dropping his gewehr 43 and reaching to his right shoulder. His falling was so sudden that I tripped over him, my face slamming into the street brick and the 42 landing on my back. Kuhn grunted as I fell over his legs then shouted for Sauer. Through my tearing eyes and bleeding nose I felt my harness being pulled and the 42 dragged off of me. By the time I could see through the running tears we were down an alley, Kuhn was at the entrance with his C48, shooting out. Next to me Sauer had set up the MG42 and led one of the belts to rest in front of me, the barrel was aimed towards the entrance of the alley, straight at our wounded ally. We could see the shots and hear the patter of the C48s automatic fire but we couldn't tell how many were being killed or how close they were. Kuhn continued firing right until he died, the first to get to him stabbed him with a bayonet in the gut, in turn he got a shot to the face with the pistol and his body dropped like a sack of kartoffels. The next man ended Kuhn with a single shot and we could hear the gurgles echo down the alley as blood suffocated his squirming body. Kuhn was the only one who had been hit yet, the second road was firmly secured and ours had an ambush waiting beyond Sauer and I. The first Ruskie came to see his handy work and watch Kuhn die, we didn't let that happen, as soon as he was in sight of the alley, the metallic shred of the MG42 ripped through the Communist and he dropped , his body soaked in his own blood before he even hit the ground. It didn't take long for the Ruskies to figure out where we were, after a pile of bodies had gathered they got wise. Grenades popped inside the entrance of the alley and Sauer pulled the mg back to shield both it and himself, leaving me curling with my back towards the blast. It rocked me, the blast pushed the air from my lungs and even before I could recover, Sauer was laying down bursts of fire into the first troops to try to get through. Another grenade was thrown, this one landed behind us. I heard Sauer bellowing to get it, I turned towards it, shakily stood, leaned down and picked it up. I felt Sauer kick my leg, yelling to throw it. I craned my arm back just as Sauer started reloading, the grenade sailed through the air towards the entrance of the alley. The face of a Russian soldier appeared around the corner at the last second. The blast sent shrapnel of corpses throughout the alley and knocked me off my feet, Something burning through my shoulder. The next time I opened my eyes Sauer was dragging me out of the alley and I had to call out that I was okay so he would let me take the rifle, he dropped me and I scrambled for the gewehr. Another Ruskie looked around the corner, saw me and started bring his rifle up to fire, I was faster now, my rifle came level first and I pulled the trigger. The last view of him I had as I shimmied out of the blasted and torn alley was his face falling back, red from the shot I made. We would retreat again in an hour or so, shots dodging over our heads and a small bandage soaked red against my shoulder. I had used Kuhn's Gewehr 43 countless times as Sauer reloaded and it had ran out of ammunition. After the battle the world seems dead, quiet and empty, no gunfire haunts through the streets and the living are silent and exhausted, awaiting orders, either by oberleutnant or by gewehr. Dead soldiers littered the sides of the street and a few scattered themselves into the centers in their death sprawls, we had held them off, just barely. Their tan or green coats were stained in their own blood and our own tunics were torn or splotched with our wounds or our friends red liquid iron. We were solemn as we moved back into the house we had spent the night in, aware of who was missing and brightly aware of the ruskie who had dragged himself inside and bled out against a wall, we would sleep somewhere else tonight. The next day we would be moving on towards Bautzen.

Our boots were caked in mud by the time the first hour of travel was over, we had to traverse a field, shelled, upturned and barren, it seemed to have had been a forest but now the trees were burnt stumps and the grass and foliage had been replaced by wire and carnage. Very few had survived, only eleven, and now we were advancing to retake another town of der Vaterland. My lips were dry, cracked with lack of water, we were rationing everything because we had very little to begin with, the soviets we had fought were much like us, undersupplied and starving. Even with the drawbacks some troops were still making jokes and commended Sauer on defending our side as long as we did, "Eisenflanke" they called him, then Sauer mentioned me, and we were both nicknamed, I was "Eisenkind". Around noon, as our feet were sore and tired from glupping through the mud, our group leader called us to halt and take a break to eat and rest, we would be moving again in a half hour. I took stock of who we had again, seemingly the only thing we could do for fun. There was Sauer and I on the MG, three riflemen, Klein, Weber and Schnee. We also had two grenadiers, two panzerjagers, an engineer and our team leader; Bahr. In all we had one Mg42, two K-98s, three Gewehr-43s, one Sturmgewehr-44, two Maschinenpistole-46s, and two captured weapons, a Mosin and Bahr's PPSH-41. In addition to those primaries, we also had a half dozen Hafthohlladungs, seven Model 24s, a Luger-51 and two C-48s. Half a meter away in the bombed out dusty trench lay a box, it was closed, scratched and a little scorched, it had caught my eye and dragged my thoughts back to the present, forgetting completely about the melee weapons I was taking stock of. I stood up and made my way to the box, navigating the trench floor with little difficulty. As I drew closer, I could see that the other side of the box, an MG-5 box, was soaked and spattered with dried blood. The MG-5 was of the newest line of Maschinengewehr, with almost 2,000 rounds per minute and a maximum range of about 3,000 meters. No one else had noticed until I was checking the box for strings attached to it as booby traps once it was noticed, Sauer approached and calmly guided me through it, he told me to guide my hands along the rectangular box, finding nothing I slid a small knife under the lid, gently trying to find a catch. Empty. I slowly lift the lid with both hands as the rest of the team, Sauer too, get to cover behind the next mound of dirt. After the lid was removed I froze at what I saw inside, Sauer and the rest of the troops stayed back and watched while I sat, then got worried as I did not move. Sauer called my name and started to peek out more from the cover and towards me. Inside the box was the MG-5, still new, an ammo can inside with a drum magazine. The barrel was out and with the extra three barrels and the receiver was also detached but all together the maschinengewehr was ready for assembly. When Sauer reached me and saw the rifle for himself he froze too. In a matter of minutes the whole team was gathered around Sauer and I as we assembled the maschinengewehr...


End file.
